


Five Times Altair (Sort Of) Got Connor Out of Trouble

by tanyart



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Siblings, Family, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:06:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an older brother is hard, but there's always that one sibling that makes it a little bit easier.  Most of the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Altair (Sort Of) Got Connor Out of Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> For[dj](http://desultoryjester.tumblr.com/), who helpfully threw prompts at me until I found the one I liked, ohoh. 
> 
> And!! As for as ages go for the kids, it goes something like; Desmond, Clay 0, being the baseline age; Connor, Aveline +2; Ezio +5; Altair +8. Based off the centuries they were originally from, haha.

**.one**  
  
Altair supposed that it could be easily taken the wrong way, but there was something immensely satisfying about having a younger brother come running up to you while sobbing brokenly about some jerkoff kid from the playground. Ever since Ezio had grown out of that phase and started handling his own fights, Altair had been left feeling slightly useless in that vague, protective older brother sort of way.  
  
It was getting to be a long while since the last bullying problem, so when Connor finally started showing signs of being unfairly teased at school for his long hair and the fact that his entire family might not have been as conventional as the usual kind, Altair leapt at the chance to defend his little brother.  
  
“Where?” Altair asked, looking down at Connor’s bowed head, hair all disheveled and loose from their ties that Aveline had worked half the morning to braid.  
  
Connor looked up and Altair could recognize the tiny flash of wicked gratification in his younger brother’s expression – the thought of an older brother telling his bullies off and consequently beating them up. Back then Ezio would sometimes get the same look, that unchecked childish glee in the face of retribution and revenge. The only reason Altair caught it was because Malik had pointed it out during a soccer game, though he had tactfully phrased it as ‘maniacal grin’ when referring to Altair. Some genes couldn’t help but carry over.  
  
“They’re -” Connor began, eyes shifting to a spot behind a massive playground slide. He frowned. “What are you going to do?”  
  
“I’m going to make sure they don’t bother you ever again,” Altair said.  
  
It was rare for Connor to look indecisive, frown deepening into something that didn’t look right for his six year old face, but there was nothing indecisive about the small hand that gripped the sleeve of Altair’s jacket to hold him back. “I don’t want you to hurt them.”  
  
Okay, so maybe some genes didn’t carry over. Altair raised a brow. He had been wondering if they were ever going to have a pacifist in the family. He’d written Ezio, Clay, and Aveline off right away, and Desmond was still too young to be much of anything besides a toddling whirlwind of household disaster. And while Connor wasn’t exactly as aggressive as the rest of them, the kid was still no pushover either.  
  
“Really?” Altair put a hand on Connor’s shoulder, feeling the smaller boy automatically lean closer. “But they hurt _you_.”  
  
“After you beat them up they’re just going to find me when I’m alone again,” Connor explained.  
  
“Oh, I bet they won’t,” Altair snorted, shaking off Connor’s hand from his sleeve. He started towards the playground. “Come on, I’ll let you watch.”  
  
He almost stumbled over Connor, who walked in front of him, hands coming up to press against his stomach to keep him from moving any further. “No! Teach me!”  
  
Altair took Connor’s wrists, a spike of inexplicable indignation making him scowl. “Are you serious?”  
  
“If _I_ can beat them up then they’ll never bother me, and I don’t have to always come get you,” Connor said earnestly.  
  
“I don’t mind,” Altair said, sounding a little awkward to his own ears, but Connor didn’t seem to notice.  
  
“Teach me!” he insisted, and Altair started to feel that same awkward pang of disappointment when he had caught Ezio in his first fistfight with Vieri; it had been no contest – Ezio had won.  
  
And what bothered Altair the most was that it wasn’t disappointment towards Ezio or Connor, but it wasn’t exactly towards himself either.  
  
“Alright,” Altair sighed, and shifted Connor’s hand to show him the proper way to make a fist and punch someone’s lights out.  
  
  
 **.two**  
   
It took a worryingly amount of time to get the front door open, but when Altair finally popped through he discovered the reason for the jammed frame was because of all the caked mud stuck to the bottom of the door. He looked further down the entrance hall and warily eyed the trail of bootprints all over the hardwood floors. _Connor._ No one else wore hiking boots.  
  
And the accompanying set of paw prints was a dead giveaway besides.  
  
He followed the trail of dirt to the kitchen where it looked like Connor had at least attempted to wash the animal – and Altair _hoped_ it was only a dog – but apparently the kid got caught in a wrestling match with it instead.  
  
Altair glanced down at Clay, who was industriously scribbling over the cabinets with a bright red crayon. “Where’s Connor?”  
  
“I’m not telling,” Clay replied.  
  
“Crayon.” Altair held out his hand, and Clay obediently deposited it into his palm. “Again; where’s Connor?”  
  
“Upstairs,” Clay said, eagerly taking the sheet of blank paper Altair took out from his backpack.  
  
“Writing only goes on paper, Clay. You know better,” Altair reminded and tilted his head to get a better look at what Clay had drawn. “That a dog?”  
  
“ _Giant_ dog, yeah. Connor’s new dog,” Clay said in a rare moment of helpfulness.  
  
Resigned, Altair dropped his backpack and went upstairs.  
  
“Connor, what did I say about bringing home strays?” he shouted, peeking into each of their rooms. Aveline was playing with Desmond in the bathroom, pausing to grin and point in the direction of Ezio’s room as a disconcerting amount of bubbles sloshed from the tub.  
  
Altair decided that he was going to deal with _that_ later, and made his way into Ezio’s bedroom.  
  
And there, in the middle of a wrecked pile of designer clothes and chewed up belts, was Connor. The mutt was sleeping peacefully in his lap.  
  
“You said that I wasn’t allowed to bring them home,” Connor answered, “Unless they were hurt.” He held up a limp, bandaged paw. The dog’s tail wagged in its sleep.  
  
Altair waited, not in the least bit impressed.  
  
“Ezio’s going to kill me,” Connor added, matter of fact.  
  
“Twice over,” he agreed.  
  
Connor grimaced. “Maybe if… before Ezio comes home, if I can be at the shelter, taking the dog back.”  
  
Realizing where his younger brother’s line of thought was heading, Altair folded his arms. “It’s your fault, you know this.”  
  
“And _I’ll_ deal with it,” Connor said, a little peevishly. “But only after Ezio cools off. I know he’s going to be mad,” he muttered, finally letting out a tiny note of despair.  
  
Altair stared levelly at Connor then let out a quiet sigh. “Well. How about I talk to him about giving him all your allowance for the next couple of weeks?”  
  
He seemed to be expecting this. Connor nodded miserably. “I probably need to take care of his chores for at least year too,” he said and lifted one of Ezio’s favorite shirts, now sporting a very unfashionable hole in the middle.  
  
Altair was about to reply when he heard the front door slam open, followed up by a good-natured string of cursing.  
  
“I’m home!” Ezio announced from downstairs. “What animal has Connor taken in now?”  
  
“A dog! In your room!” Aveline called out.  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
Not wanting to waste any time, Altair walked over to Ezio’s window, sliding it open. Wordlessly pointing out, he let Connor gather the waking dog in his arms and duck through before sliding it shut. From the corner of his eye, he saw Connor making his way across the jutted roof edge.  
  
He turned around just as Ezio rushed in, the younger boy’s face already turning red with anger.  
  
“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Ezio exclaimed, looking down at his destroyed wardrobe.  
  
“I can explain,” Altair said, picking up the ruined shirt.  
  
Ezio opened his mouth, eyes darting towards the window where they both knew Connor was climbing down, but Altair resolutely stood in the way, smirking.  
  
“It was my fault,” he said, not bothering to sound convincing when the smugness and mirth of his voice could do so much more damage. He held up the shirt and finished the job by tearing it down the middle. “And I’m not even sorry about it.”  
  
Ezio tackled him to the ground.  
  
  
 **.three**  
  
It was Connor’s turn to pick their annual family vacation, and of course he would pick camping. Not that Altair didn’t mind; Aveline had picked Las Vegas last year, and no one had even been over seventeen at the time. At least camping was an all-ages kind of thing, given the right activities.  
  
From his sleeping bag, he watched as Aveline lead her brothers in a highly inappropriate campfire song and noted ruefully that Ezio’s voice was the loudest of them all. They were probably going to scare off all the animals and the other campers in the forest at this rate, though Altair could detect a missing overall tone from the group’s singing. He counted heads and wasn’t surprised to find Connor missing. The kid couldn’t just stick with roasting marshmallows and telling ghost stories.  
  
 _“-first thing’s first I’ll eat your brains! Then I’mma start rocking gold teeth and fangs-”_  
  
“Hate to interrupt Nicki Minaj, but has anyone seen Connor?”  
  
There was a collective shaking of heads, but no one looked overly worried until Desmond blinked and sat up from his fallen log chair.  
  
“Oh no, but me and Clay were only joking,” he said, turning to Clay. “Weren’t we?”  
  
Clay rolled his eyes. “Connor’s not an idiot. It’s not like he brought his archery gear to actually _go_ out hunting. He knows we already have food and everything.”  
  
Everyone around the campfire fell silent.  
  
“We didn’t literally mean to tell him to catch a rabbit for dinner,” Desmond whispered, horrified. “He’s going to skin it and everything. _Like last time_.”  
  
While Altair wasn’t overly fond of seeing skinned rabbits either, there were other concerns he had with Connor going out in the forest alone. The sun was beginning to set and he didn’t like to think of what Connor might get into at night if his daytime camping activities were any indication.  
  
“I’ll go look for him,” he said, getting up. “The rest of you stay here.”  
  
There was only one worn path leading to their camp site, but Altair knew Connor well enough to ignore it and look up to find a line of trees, thick branches overlapping to form a pathway of their own. He paused, putting a hand on the rough bark before giving a small hop to grab a branch and hoist himself up.  
  
It took a moment to gain his footing, the soles of his sneakers more suited for concrete and flat planes than rocks or trees. He could imagine where Connor must have gone, but getting there was a trial all on its own. The branch beneath him creaked and Altair quelled the jolt of unease with irritation.  
  
After a moment he climbed down and decided that finding Connor would go faster on the ground.  
  
“Altair?”  
  
He quickly turned around. “Where were you?”  
  
Connor was thankfully without this archery gear or much of anything else besides the mobile phone in his hand. He held it up to shine the light at Altair. “I was walking around. Why?” He sounded distinctly amused. “Thought I was out hunting rabbits?”  
  
“Yes, actually,” Altair said, swatting Connor’s wrist to stop the phone light from shining in his eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t come back with a bear.”  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind for tomorrow,” Connor said thoughtfully.   
  
  
 **.four**  
   
Altair didn’t have favorites. All his siblings were equally as aggravating as the other, but there had always been certain dynamics within the family that played out better than others. Aveline, for instance, would always rather go out shopping with Ezio and Desmond. It wasn’t a cut on her other siblings, but no one else had the same delight (or patience) when it came to new clothes. It also helped that the three of them genuinely _liked_ going out to various social functions and meeting new people on a weekly basis. In that sense, Altair guessed the division of introverts and extroverts in the family was evenly split down the middle.  
  
“Hey, Connor. Make some room, will you?”  
  
“You can’t climb up this high,” Connor replied sulkily.  
  
“Then get down to where I am.”  
  
But yet it wasn’t right to divide the six of them up so simply. Just because Connor would rather go hiking than partying didn’t mean he wouldn’t have wanted to go out with Aveline, Ezio, and Desmond anyway.  
  
Altair waited for Connor to grudgingly climb down and settle next to him. He relinquished a part of the branch to sit on and made sure that their shoulders were pressed together.  
  
“You weren’t answering your phone,” he said.  
  
Expertly perched on his part of the branch, Connor nestled his head into his arms, unwilling to look at Altair. His voice was muffled when he said, “I must have dropped it on the way up. It’s probably broken.”  
  
“It is,” Altair confirmed and felt Connor tense up beside him. He risked a gentle nudge of reassurance. “It’s fine.”  
  
“Sorry,” Connor murmured. He finally glanced at Altair, brow furrowing. “I mean. They didn’t even _ask_ , you know? They just left without me again.”  
  
“To Shaun’s eighth birthday party?” Altair asked dubiously.  
  
“I might have said yes,” Connor grumbled. “I don’t know. I guess I feel left out sometimes.”  
  
For a long while, Altair couldn’t think of a reply. He tilted his head, focusing his gaze towards the bright horizon. It was utterly quiet this high up, cold and calm, and he could feel Connor shift next to him, regarding him curiously.  
  
“So do I,” he admitted, which wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be.  
  
Connor threw him a skeptical look. “About Shaun’s eighth birthday party?”  
  
“ _Sometimes_ ,” Altair amended. “But I have my own things to do, too, so I’m not always lonely. Like rescuing little brothers from trees, for instance.”  
  
There was a pause. Connor pursed his lips. “I picked one hell of a place to throw a tantrum.”  
  
“Yes, you did,” Altair said, finally waving down to the anxiously waiting firefighters to show that everything was all right. The only reason they allowed him up was because the ladder had been too short to reach. “You want to go down now?”  
  
“Five more minutes?” Connor asked hopefully. “This is the highest tree in the city. They’ll never let me do it again.” He glanced up, a small smile flitting across his expression. There were only a few branches until he could reach the very top of the tree. “You can stay, if you want.”  
  
Altair warily followed his line of sight, but he reminded himself that he had climbed up higher buildings, and Connor’s shoulder was just as steady as any of them, if not more.  
  
“I don’t think I have a choice,” he said, and took Connor’s offered hand.  
  
  
 **.five**  
   
The trip to France went surprisingly well up until the point when Altair had to withdraw from his verbal spar with Robert De Sable to keep Connor from throttling every single person in the bar.  
  
“ _Pardonnez-moi_ ,” he muttered, getting up from his seat.  
  
“ _Bien sûr_ ,” Robert replied with a benevolent smile, laughing and lifting his bottle of beer in his direction.  
  
Muttering under his breath about the pains of keeping in contact with an old college rival, Altair made his way through the gathering crowd, firmly pushing people away and pulling the more inebriated ones to the side. He got to where Ezio and Aveline were sitting, drinks in their hands and faces flushed in a way that owed less to the alcohol and more to the fact that they were doubled over, laughing.  
  
“What happened?” Altair asked, using his best authoritative older brother voice that he somehow never quite perfected with them, even at the old age of twenty-five.  
  
“Don’t worry about it, Altair! It was just a misunderstanding,” Aveline said as an unfortunate patron was thrown across their table, clearing away their dishes. She set her drink down, pulling Altair to sit on the freshly unoccupied space. “Watch this -- Connor, you doing okay there?”  
  
“No? Not really? I don’t understand why they’re so angry at me,” Connor’s voice floated up from the fray.  
  
“Try apologizing again!” Ezio shouted back, cupping his hands over his mouth to amplify his voice. “Tell them; _‘t'as une tête à faire sauter les plaques d'égouts!_ ’”  
  
Altair watched in complete fascination as Connor repeated the words, completely perfect, and proceeded to get punched in the face.  
  
“Ask them what’s wrong; _‘on t'a bercé trop près du mur?’_ ” Aveline suggested, clamping a hand over Altair’s mouth before he could say anything.  
  
“How are there so many ways of saying sorry?” Connor yelled angrily.  
  
Altair forcibly freed himself from Aveline’s hold and shot the both of them an exasperated look. “Fix this.”  
  
“C’mon, _mon cher frère_ ,” Aveline said, grinning up at him. “No need to be so serious all the time.”  
  
“Connor’s a big boy now,” Ezio added fondly. “Look at him go. That’s four down already.”  
  
“So proud,” Aveline murmured and lifted her glass to make a toast with Ezio.  
  
Luckily, four people down was something to consider. Connor was given a short respite from the fighting, though there were still some people shouting at him as he stumbled to their table. All the insults had gone over his head since he couldn’t understand a word of French, having relied on Altair, Ezio, or Aveline since the start of the trip.  
  
“Okay, you two had your fun,” Connor said, snatching the napkin from Ezio’s hand to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. “From now on I’m only listening to Altair.”  
  
“Ah, you caught us,” Ezio sighed. “That’s too bad, we- oh? Isn’t that your... friend, Altair?”  
  
Altair turned to see Robert approach them with a scowl on his face. He stood up from the table, not liking the dangerous saunter in Robert’s gait.  
  
“ _Altair, did your brother cause this mess? These were my friends, you know_ ,” Robert said, nodding to the four unconscious bodies on the floor. His arms were relaxed at his side, hands curled into loose fists.  
  
Connor looked at Robert, not understanding what had been said but clearly recognizing the tone of the man’s voice. He put his hands up in a placating manner. “I didn’t mean-”  
  
Putting a hand on Connor’s shoulder, Altair stepped in between them, smiling apologetically. “ _Yes, Connor did this, but he would like to apologize_.”  
  
Hearing his name, Connor glanced at him. “Altair?”  
  
“Apologize to the bald man, _petit frère_ ,” Altair said, still smiling.  
  
Connor groaned. “And how should I do that?” he asked in a rare moment of pure sarcasm as Robert shifted his stance into something considerably more aggressive.  
  
“Tell him; _pardon, mais va te faire foutre_ ,” Altair said happily and let Connor throw the first punch.  
  
 

**Author's Note:**

> **Translations:**   
> 
> 
>   * _Pardonnez-moi_ \- Excuse me 
>   * _Bien sûr_ \- of course/certainly 
>   * _T'as une tête à faire sauter les plaques d'égouts!_ \- You've got a face that would blow off manhole covers! 
>   * _On t'a bercé trop près du mur?_ \- As a child, was your cradle rocked too close to the wall? 
>   * _Mon cher frère_ \- my dear brother 
>   * _Petit frère_ \- little brother 
>   * _Pardon, mais va te faire foutre_ \- sorry, but go fuck yourself
> 



End file.
